can help him to it. You have never cared for
anybody--what do you know about it?"

Hilda took a calm, unprejudiced view of the ceiling. "I assure you I'm
not an angel," she cried. "Haven't I cared? Several times."

"Not really--not lastingly."

"I don't know about really; certainly not lastingly. I've never thought
the men should have a monopoly of nomadic susceptibilities. They entail
the prettiest experiences."

"Of course, in your profession----"

"Don't be nasty, sweet lady. My affections have never taken the
opportunities of our profession. They haven't even carried me into
matrimony, though I remember once, at Sydney, they brought me to the
brink. _Quelle escape!_ We must contrive one like it for Duff Lindsay."

"You assume too much--a great deal too much. She must be beautiful--and
good."

"Give me a figure. She's a lily, and she draws the kind of beauty that
lilies have from her personal chastity and her religious enthusiasm.
Touch those things and bruise them, as--as marriage would touch and
bruise them--and she would be a mere fragment of stale vegetation. You
want him to clasp that to his bosom for the rest of his life?"

"I won't believe you. You're coarse and you're cruel."

Tears flashed into Miss Livingstone's eyes with this. Hilda, still
regarding the ceiling, was aware of them, and turned an impatient
shoulder while they should be brushed undetected away.

"I'm sorry, dear," she said. "I forgot. You are usually so intelligent,
one can be coarse and cruel with comfort, talking to you. Go into the
bath-room and get my salts--they're on the washhand-stand--will you? I'm
quite faint with all I'm about to undergo."

Laura Filbert came in as Alicia emerged with the salts. Ignoring the
third person with the bottle, she went directly to the bedside and laid
her hand on Hilda's head.

"Oh, Miss Howe, I am so sorry you are sick--so sorry," she said. It was
a cooing of professional concern, true to an ideal, to a necessity.

"I am not very bad," Hilda improvised. "Hardly more than a headache."

"She makes light of everything," Miss Filbert said, smiling toward
Alicia, who stood silent, the prey of her impression. Discovering the
blue salts bottle, Laura walked over to her and took it from her hands.

"And what," said the barefooted Salvation Army girl, "might your name
be?"

There was an infinite calm interest in it--it was like a conventionality
of the other world, and before its assurance Alic